There is his wife before him. She is straight. Her naked body rises, column of white flame, from her dun skirt. Esther—his love—she is in a case of fire. Within her breasts as within hard jewels move the liquids of love. Within her body, as within a case, lies her soul, pent, which should pour forth its warmth upon them.
He embraces her.
"Esther.—Esther—" He can say no more.
His lips are at her throat. Can he not break her open?
She sways back, yielding. Her eyes swerve up. They catch the cradle of her child.
—Another child—another agony of glory—another misery to the world?
She is stiff in the unbroken case of a vast wound all about her.
So they lie down in bed. So they sleep.
She has cooked their breakfast.